


Master of Destruction

by FromJupiterToMercury



Category: Guns N' Roses, Metallica, Rock Music RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromJupiterToMercury/pseuds/FromJupiterToMercury
Summary: 1992; your boyfriend, Axl Rose, starts to tour with his band and Metallica – occasion to meet a certain Lars Ulrich, drummer of the band.
Relationships: Axl Rose/Reader, Lars Ulrich/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

_This fic is dedicated to Sabrina, the biggest slut for Axl and Lars to ever be ~_

_15 th of May 1986_

“Imma go grab a drink.”

You left your group of friends and headed to the build-up bar on the field. Tables were stacked in order to make a counter, and students behind were serving beers lustily.

You asked your glass to be refilled when the sound of an electric guitar started. Once a week, a group came and played during the party; usually students of your university. You took back your glass and turned your head towards the band. You couldn’t see them from where you were, there wasn’t any stage so they were on the ground, at people’s level. You couldn’t really hear the voice that just started singing, the sound was poorly balanced and instruments took it over. The speakers crackled, but you quickly got happed by the riffs, feeling the guitar resonating through your chest. _If the quality of the guitarist surpassed the quality of the speakers, not bad._

You proceeded to them, wanting to see more. You passed between groups of students chatting together, not listening nor watching to them at all. You placed yourself behind a little line of people, only three or four meters away from the band.

The singer had his eyes closed, balancing himself on the music. The spotlight above him reflected in his ginger hair.

The solo started, and your gaze shifted to the guitarist; he wasn’t under a light, so everything you saw was a hairy shape scratching his guitar like his life depended on it. You then looked back in the singer’s direction and his gaze moved. You frowned; you swore he was looking at you.

He took the mic back and started to sing again.

The two minutes passed fast, and you were trapped.

The chorus repeated and the musicians gave everything before slowly stopping the music.

Some clapping could be heard, but you bet less than the half of people there noticed the music stopped. _God, that was good._ The singer swiped the “audience”; he sighed, and in his process stopped his gaze on you. You didn’t know what to do. You quickly looked away and then remembered your friends further on the field. You turned back and walked towards the spot you were some minutes ago. A chilly wind made you tighten your jean jacket. You arrived; they weren’t there anymore. “Guys, I swear…” You looked left and right but couldn’t really see anything in the crowd, plus it was getting dark. You raised your shoulders in disbelief and swore. _Not nice_.

You were cursing on them when you felt a tap on your shoulder: “Wanna grab a drink?” You turned. You recognized his ginger hair and raised your eyebrows in surprise. His voice took you aback; it was so deeper than when he was singing.

Your mutual silence embarrassed him a bit and he passed his hand through his hair: “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have followed-”

“Oops sorry. Well, my friends seem to have forgotten me.” You showed the empty space around you and invited him to carry on in a movement of your arm.

“Me and my band planned to go to a bar near here. Wanna come?” You nodded. _You weren’t going to stay there all alone, were you?_ Both of you started to walk. “I’m y/n by the way. And you?” He took some seconds before answering: “I am… Axl. Axl Rose.” You shrugged. “You seem to hesitate. Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Well, now I am sure.” You exchanged a look. Something touched you in it, but you don’t know what. “Oh, and thank you.”

You frowned. “For what?”

“For listening to us earlier.” You nudged at him: “Oh. Well, people coming here aren’t really there for music, more for… other things.” You imitated drinking from a bottle of beer and made evocative gestures with your hands. He shrugged.

You got out of the campus. “Which faculty are you from by the way? I don’t recognize you.”

“Oh, I’m not a student. My band and I send propositions to come and play to parties in universities, and yours actually answered, which is quite rare. We play our songs here and there, trying to live with what we earn.”

“Well let me tell you, Axl Rose, you have talent and should definitely carry on.” You smiled at him and eyed the four people waiting for you further.

-

_10 th of May 1992_

You let yourself fall on a sofa in the middle of the nightclub.

About six years ago, you were in this place too.

Half-naked stripers were dancing too.

Alcohol was flooding too.

Quite illegal substances were circulating too.

But everything was so different.

After their gig at your university, Axl had invited you to hang out with his band. You had expected to stand awkwardly in the middle of men you didn’t know in a creepy atmosphere, ready to run back in your dorm room in a matter of minutes.

The truth was; you had never had so much fun in an evening. Well, evening that soon transformed into night. You hadn’t seen the colour of your dormitory nor your class that day; you had woken up in a shabby apartment, with a big blackout from the night and a deafening headache. But it was the first time in a while you hadn’t felt that good.

Axl and his band lived in the same flat, living from the representations they made – and spending everything in a lot of things except decent food, judging the fridge only filled with two bottles of beer and cheese slices.

A thick bond had been made that day.

After spending your days on the campus, you joined them in the studio and got back in your dorm late in the night. Soon, things turned around; you went to your classes less and less, traded your comfortable uni bed for their dirty couch and spent more and more time with the band who had welcome you like a family.

At the end of May, you didn’t show up to your exams and left your ancient life behind. It had been like someone had pushed a button that accelerated time.

The album they were writing was soon done, the recording sessions were close to an end and Axl and you were closer than ever.

 _Appetite for Destruction_ came out in 1987, and after celebrating the release, you swapped your sleeping spot from the couch to Axl’s bed. A party had been thrown in the small apartment, and you remembered it very well.

He had his head on your chest and his arms tied around you. Your chest was heaving, still a bit out of breath. The party that was going on in the living room was in full swing, the muffled music resonating into the small room.

“When you’ll be super famous, I’m sure Duff’s parties will have beer fountains.” He laughed. “I don’t know why, but I’ll picture that in an extravagant house in the south of Italy, with huge swimming pools and palm trees.” You stirred.

“Why the hell would we live so far?”

You tangled your fingers in his hair: “Well… You’ll be super rich and have houses all around the globe. I’m sure you will when your album will be out and be at the top of charts. Then you’ll travel and-”

“Why do you say ‘you’?” Something glinted in his eyes as he put his chin on your belly to look at you. You grinned: “I don’t know. Are you willing to have me following you everywhere?”

He nibbled at your skin and you giggled loudly when he answered: “Of course I do. Who am I going to explore the backstage with if not?”

And he kept his promise. One year after a complicated start, Guns n’ Roses became one of the most popular band in the world and the touring engine had been activated. In four years and four albums, you swore you had gone around the world three times.

And you were still there.

You’d been there when they lost confidence as the album didn’t sell; you’d been there when Izzy left the band; you’d been there to intervene between Slash and Axl when he fired Steven from the band; you’d been there facing the drummer in court, and the other times Axl went back in court…

You eyed your empty glass and squinted with mistrust, like thinking about that was its fault.

Years ago, you were afraid he would forget you with success; now, you regretted he didn’t remember you were there when he had nothing.

You jumped slightly when someone fell next to you.

“Shit!”

You turned your face; Slash had done the exact same gesture than you two minutes earlier, but unlike you, his glass was full… well, not anymore.

He sat back and looked at his shirt with spite and you straightened as you laughed. He threw a look at his glass and said: “Anyway, it looked not good.” He pointed at yours; “Seen how you were looking at it…”

He smiled at you and took a drag, but his eyebrow raised when he saw your sad smile. He nudged at your side for you to elaborate, but you were only able to make a movement of the head towards Axl, splayed in a sofa further, in a deep conversation with a weird-looking man. The guitarist feigned an annoyance: “What? Did you fight again?”

You seized the humour in his tone and said: “Saul, you know we love throwing dishes on the ground.” He huffed and went to drink his glass but hummed when the ice-cube only bumped his nose. “And how did you figure that out?”

You cocked an eyebrow: “We had wild sex on the couch.”

And that was true.

Fighting with Axl was an easy scheme to understand: something minor happens, and where at the start of your relationship you tried to explain yourselves, the discussion quickly evolves in screams and broken dishes, to end naked on the closest surface.

You were laughing at that right now, but the situation worried you. For some time now, you were wondering if you had been right to give everything up six years ago.

If you had been right to accept Axl to pay you a drink outside the campus that day.

Slash patted your knee affectionately: “He loves you, you know.”

Your heart tightened in a weird way. You turned your head to him and said: “I’m going to save my man.” You pointed at him; the weird man was talking with huge gestures, and Axl had his pissed face. Slash shrugged: “I know him. This is Ivan Page, a guy from Elektra.”

You frowned.

“How do you know him? You never worked with Elektra.”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

You let your friend behind you as you got up and crossed the distance between you and your boyfriend. He lifted his eyes as he saw you approach and you lost no time sitting on his lap, looking at the guy in front of you. Axl’s hand flew on your thigh and he cleared his throat: “Ivan, this is y/n, my girlfriend.”

You extended your hand and he shook it heavily. He seemed in a very good mood and sur-excited; you wondered if he was always like that or if it was the alcohol flooding his veins. “Nice to meet you, y/n! So, I guess you will be a part of our next adventure!”

The hand that was holding his glass shook slightly, and you suspected not only alcohol was involved. You frowned: “What do you mean?”

The man smiled and opened his mouth but a hiccup interrupted him. Axl jumped on the occasion and said, a non-hidden annoyance painted on his face: “Ivan, what if you leave us?”

Ivan Page got up, his huge smile still painted on his face, shook both of your hands and vanished in the dancing crowd.

Axl rolled his eyes and let out the big sigh he was holding. “This man only talks to me because I’m going to bring him money.”

He turned to you and moved your hair from your face. You said: “I didn’t know Elektra approached you.”

“Well, it’s for our next tour.”

You frowned: “But you’ve just finished one!”

You saw he was in an awkward position and didn’t know what to say. “The _Use your Illusion_ tour might be… expended.”

Your heart dropped in your chest; you were waiting for this hiatus in his career to spend time with him.

 _Failed_.

He talked fast, like to prevent you to argue and avoid confrontation: “It’s going to be a particular one; we won’t be alone. It’s a short one though; only a matter of four or five months.”

Your mind was blank.

“The press conference is in two days.”

You opened wide eyes: “ _What_?” You had talked a bit loud, making some people around you turn. “The press conf- Axl. A whole fucking tour had been planned and you didn’t say anything to me?” Being around the band had learnt you things the common of mortal didn’t know; but no need to be a producer to know a tour wasn’t organised in two days.

He gulped and approached his face from yours.

Seen your position and his hands clamped on your thighs plus his nose nearly touching yours, an external person would have seen a loving couple embracing each other.

But both of your bodies were tensed, and the little space between your faces electrified.

He had no excuse though, and felt it; his features softened and he closed his eyes. “Listen – it had been organised quickly. If you want to know, who will perform at the opening acts aren’t even chos-”

You cut him with a movement of the hand.

“You know what? I don’t want to know more for today.”

He closed his mouth.

You took upon yourself, took a breath and passed your arms around his neck.

You had never complained about touring; you liked that life. But-

“Cocktails?”

Duff sat next to you, three huge glasses in his hands.

As usual, you took a smiley face and Axl discreetly released a breath.


	2. Chapter 2

_12 th of May 1992_

“Where is he?”

You had put one foot only in the hall when a brown-haired storm hurried on you. You blinked. You had left Axl’s and your apartment the morning to spend time with friends, and had agreed on meeting here, in the hotel that held the press conference for the next tour. As you didn’t answer, Slash thought you didn’t get what he had said, so repeated but you rose your hand: “I don’t know. We were supposed to meet here.”

A second passed where you looked into each other’s eyes.

Axl’s _punctuality_ was a secret for no one, but press conference always started late and he somehow always managed to arrive not _that_ late; but the hour was already well advanced, and you could hear the journalists and photographers chat loudly on the other side of the wall, in the meeting room at the end of the hall.

Your gaze got attracted towards couches facing the reception due to movements and noticed only now there were people there, two men. You squinted; one of them… You were sure you knew his face. You looked at the guy next to him, and his gaze quickly looked away.

_Was he looking at you?_

Slash sighed deeply and you looked back at him. “Well, I was supposed to talk, anyway.”

You cleared your throat: “Where’s Duff?”

He turned and put a hand on your shoulder to lead you further and started to walk. “Duff’s not there, only Axl and I were supposed to.” You felt disappointment in his voice, and felt bad for him. A sudden wave of annoyance crossed your body.

Slash stopped and the men you noticed some seconds ago got up to meet you. “Oh, y/n, let me introduce you… This is James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich, from Metallica.”

The taller one extended his hand and frantically shook yours. A huge smile was painted on his face. “Nice to meet you, I’m Ja-”

“James!” You had said that a bit loud, like you had suddenly remembered his name. Everything fell back into place; that’s why his face looked familiar. “I recognize you. Well, nice to meet you too.”

“Axl has changed, I see.”

You turned to the man next to him; he passed his hand in his hair before extending his too. You shook hands in an awkward silence where you both eyed each other. You didn’t seem to recognize him, and you flushed slightly, embarrassed. James broke the silence; “This is Lars, our drummer.”

“Oh, right. Well, I’m y/n, Axl’s girlfriend.” James let a “ooh” and Lars and you let go of each other when you asked: “So, you’re here for an announce too?”

Their turn to be embarrassed; the two musicians exchanged a look, not knowing what to say. Slash cleared his throat: “y/n, they… We’re going to perform together during the next tour. Metallica plus Guns n’ Roses. Didn’t… Axl didn’t tell you?”

You bit the inside of your cheeks.

Hard.

“No. No, he didn’t.”

The annoyance you had felt earlier towards Axl quickly evolved into anger but you tried to keep a straight face; once again, he hadn’t kept you in touch about important things even though you lived under the same roof; and once again, it had embarrassed you in front of strangers.

James clapped in his hands to end the misunderstanding and said: “I think we should go. They are getting impatient in there, and you don’t want them to be more ferocious than usual.”

You smiled and tried to push away your thoughts when the four of you proceeded to the meeting rooms section, the noise of hungry journalists getting louder.

Slash turned to you and said: “Sit at the front with James, normally there will be three free seats for you.”

You hummed absentmindedly.

Lars pushed the doors and everyone in the room started to talk at the same time, every camera shooting you all restlessly. Slash and Lars headed behind a huge table with two mics, and journalists started to shout questions at the same time as they weren’t even sat. You spotted three empty chairs at the front and sat, quickly eyeing Axl’s empty one, James going next to you. You glanced around and vaguely noticed some familiar faces from Geffen, the band’s manager, and Ivan Page that you saw two days earlier.

Slash nervously touched his sunglasses, unease in front of all of those people and Lars said in his clear voice: “Right, so as you know – people had stopped talking loud when he started to speak, but you could still hear pictures being taken and whispers – we’re here to announce that this summer, Metallica will join Guns n’ Roses – he made a gesture towards Slash – for a special tour of the United States and Canada.”

Slash carried on: “The tour will start on the 17th of July and end on the 6th of October. The tickets will be available in… Well… See that with the producers.”

He vaguely nodded towards the front row.

As they stopped talking, a “woosh” of raising hands filled the room. Lars pointed a man. “Names for the opening acts?”

The drummer shook his head no: “Not yet.”

“Are you going to perform at the American Dance Festival?”

A woman had shouted her question from the end of the room and the two musicians exchanged a frown. Lars answered once again: “God, no.”

Ten minutes passed where journalists mainly asked about the cities they would perform in and potential visual effects. You were surprised; press conferences weren’t always that calm. But it was short-lived, and like he has heard what you were thinking about, a journalist allowed to speak by Slash asked: “Is Axl Rose a part of this?”

The guitarist frowned, not getting it: “Uh… Yes. Yes, of course.”

“We all know some shows had often been cancelled, or shortened.” He looked at Lars. “Isn’t it… risky for you to perform with them?”

Your hand clenched at your chair; you took it as a personal attack. Lars threw uncomfortable looks at a bit everyone and Slash stuttered: “Someone else?”

But the journalist carried on, on the same despising tone: “And you? Will you perform?”

Sensing he already had the answer, Slash didn’t say anything and you guessed him eyeing the room behind his sunglasses for help. You gulped, your throat being dry from apprehension. “Because all of your members seem to get fired by the man who’s not there. Izzy Stradlin, Steven Adler…”

“Izzy hasn’t been fired! He left on his own.”

His tone was unsure, and the journalist carried on as he hadn’t said anything: “Adler was a childhood friend of yours, wasn’t he? It should have been hard for you. How did you-”

Lars cut him: “We’re not here for that.” He shifted on his chair uncomfortably and swiped the room, looking for another question. “Anyone-”

But the man wasn’t done. “I see the end of your previous tour saw its public lower. Is it why you associated yourselves with Metallica? To sell tickets?”

You couldn’t bear it anymore; you suddenly got up and turned around, planting your eyes in the guy who had just stopped talking. His face enlightened, like you had just offered him a big gift presenting yourself in front of the cameras; “Miss y/l/n! _Closer_ magazine lastly reported that some years ago Mister Rose had been arrested for violence against-”

You shouted: “Stop!”

The try was vain as he threw: “Has Mister Rose already been violent with-”

Guns n’ Roses manager finally got up and said, while walking towards you: “This press conference is ended. Everyone gets out!”

Slash and Lars got up, the manager caught you by the arm and motioned James to get up. You were still looking at the journalist and opened your mouth to say things not suitable to write in a paper when the manager urged you outside.

He dragged you and James in the room next door to avoid being confronted by everyone in the hall. You were fuming; your cheeks were flushed and your fists clenched at your sides. The anger you felt earlier had grown.

James approached a hesitating hand from your shoulder to ask if you were alright but resigned himself.

The door opened on Slash and Lars, quickly entering.

Your friend was out of breath like he had run and Lars threw you a sorry look discretely.

But you noticed it; and you felt ashamed, once again. It was the first time you saw them, you’ll have to spend months with them, and that’s how you met; passing for a lost girl target of the medias due to her relations.

The manager scratched his head; “Well, that was something, eh. It’s a pity, there are plenty of subjects we should have talked about…”

He looked at you, eyebrows furrowed; like you were responsible for this.

“But that’s okay, we can talk about it now.”

A silence fell, his eyes not leaving you.

 _Perfect_.

Without a word and with a quick glance to your friend, you stormed out.

You joined the hall and walked fast towards the exit, decided to escape this shitty atmosphere as soon as possible. You were two meters away from the door when you fell a hand on your wrist. You turned; Lars was standing behind you. You raised eyebrows, quite surprised to see him there – and still ashamed of what happened earlier. He hesitated a bit and said: “Those journalists… They are ruthless, nothing to do with you y’know.”

You passed your hand in your hair: “Oh, yeah…”

What a good answer.

He hummed: “We’re hanging out with the band, right there across the street. It was a shitty first meeting, so if you want to come…” He smiled: “To let us prove you you can spend good time with us.”

The anger you felt faded and for the first time in days, you laughed; his features relaxed when he saw you didn’t react badly. But you couldn’t; Axl was certainly waiting for you, and…

Well, you had things to tell him.

“Well, Lars, it’s very nice of you, but I think we’ll see each other later.”

You said your goodbyes and you left the hotel, feeling awkwardly light even after what you lived.


	3. Chapter 3

“He said no.”

You had just closed the door of your apartment that Axl planted himself in front of you, looking angry. You were taken aback and momentarily forgot his previous actions as you asked: “Who?”

“Kurt Cobain!”

You blinked, and he rolled his eyes when he saw you didn’t get it. “I wanted Nirvana as the opener for the tour. And guess what? Kurt _fucking_ Cobain didn’t agree, following his agent.” He turned and headed towards the living room, pestering under his breath.

You feigned: “Oh yes, the tour. Everything’s alright for that?”

You followed him and watched him sit on the couch. He hummed and let his head fall back, looking exhausted. For a split second, you wondered if he had been busy today about other aspects of the tour and your shoulders relaxed. You joined him on the couch and he opened his eyes when he felt your weight next to him. He smiled and put his head into your neck, sighing deeply. You said in a soft voice: “What happened? Did you have problems with organisation, or…”

You guessed him frown, and he hummed: “No. I woke up an hour ago and this _guy_ called me to tell me that.”

Your hand that was on his shoulder clenched. You said, the calmest possible: “Axl. You had a press conference today.”

You thought he would deny. Or invent an excuse. At least sit straight and feign an apology.

He didn’t move and hummed in your neck: “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Duff will tell me.”

“Duff wasn’t there. Slash was. And you were supposed to too.”

He now sat and looked at you, not getting why you sounded so upset. “Right. And what’s the matter? Plus, how do you know?”

You did your maximum to control your clenching jaw: “Because I was there.”

He raised eyebrows: “Oh, fine. Well, tell me, then.” Surprise had left place to defy in his tone.

You smiled ironically: “Of course. Well, first, I met Slash in the hall, very worried about not seeing you there. Then he introduced me to Metallica, you know, the not-so-famous band who will tour with you. I reckon they’re not that important since you didn’t tell me about them.”

His features tensed, but you carried on. “After ridiculing myself in front of strangers, we entered the room where journalists were. Funny, one of them talked about you being always late on stage, the repercussions it had on the selling of tickets and the members of the band leaving one by one.”

The hand behind you grasped on the couch. Saying that was painful for him to hear as painful for you to say. You were in this too, but you didn’t bear this behaviour like nothing mattered.

His pale skin had taken a magenta taint. _He_ wasn’t hiding his clenching jaw, and you felt he was about to burst at any given moment.

“And you know what I did? I got up. I wanted to make this stop so bad, because I don’t want people to have this image of you. But you’re doing everything for that to happen!”

He didn’t say anything.

“When I did though, the journalist asked me about your criminal record.”

You knew he hadn’t talked yet because he didn’t know where to start.

“The meeting stopped there. Glad of this feedback?”

You waited.

He still didn’t open it.

You got up all at once. The only thing he spat out on the tone of an insult was: “Where are you going?”

But you didn’t answer and left the apartment in seconds.

-

You eyed the street. Earlier that day, Lars had said they would go to a bar in the street. The hotel was at your back, but… No bar was facing you. Well, there was that thing, further… Couldn’t be a bar, could it? It looked more like a strip-club than anything else.

You thought.

You didn’t want to go home. Your legs led you to the entry of the club and you pushed the doors. The day was falling outside, but the dim light made you frown to see something. Music was already bumping, and you could see not-very-dressed girls dancing a bit everywhere.

A weird feeling took you and you turned to get out, thinking about how it was a bad idea, when-

“y/n?”

You turned back.

At the bar, Slash was looking at you, surprised, but smiling. After getting his refill, he went toward you. “What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to go home.”

“I thought too. I changed my mind.” The end of your sentence came quite weakly, still not sure of yourself. The guitarist passed an arm around your shoulders and led you further. “Those guys, they are nice. Come and grab a drink to enjoy!”

As you advanced in the club, you saw a corner table where two guys were sitting. Recognizing you, both smiled widely and it strangely warmed your heart. Seeing two people you barely knew looking that happy to see you…

James talked loudly to cover the music: “y/n! Where were you? We’ve been waiting for you for hours!”

He made a movement of the hand to show you the table filled with empty glasses of all sizes. You scoffed: “It’s only 8pm!” You turned to Slash: “ _That_ ’s why you all get on.” Your friend nudged at you and took back his place next to James, you going at the only one remaining; next to Lars.

He bent toward you for you to hear; “Your plans got shortened?”

You turned your face too to answer him: “Damn yes they were.”

He frowned slightly as he sensed the irony but smiled. He raised his glass and said; “To y/n’s shortened plans!”

Slash did the same in a huge movement of the arm, putting ashes everywhere and James shouted a “Whooo!” in a low voice that made people around you turn.

Hours passed, so alcohol; earlier you had thought the table was filled with empty ones – little did you know. At a moment, Slash got tired of getting up for refills and brought back bottles, putting his index in front of his lips when you asked if the barman was alright with this. Thoughts took longer to form in your mind and you moved like you were in water – but you acknowledged you were laughing a bit too easily to everything they said. That didn’t matter; they did too.

At a moment, Slash and James got involved in a heated debate about guitar chords – debate you quickly lost interest in, like your neighbour. Your gaze wandered further, on the dancefloor.

You turned again to Lars: “You dance?”

He looked at you, puzzled, as you had asked him the worst thing possible. You laughed – again – and didn’t wait for his answer to get up and dive into the crowd.

The atmosphere was electrifying; the heat of people dancing swallowed you and you followed their lead. You started to move your hips on the rhythm and balance your hair. You suddenly turned and came face to face with Lars.

Literally face to face; your noses were barely touching, people around you pressing you into each other. You moved a lock from your face stuck due to the sweat and blinked, not moving. He didn’t either, and seconds – maybe minutes, time was distorted – passed without one of you moving, just looking into each other’s eyes.

Suddenly, you felt someone grab your forearm and drag you further into the crowd. Next thing you knew you were against the wall near the exit, Slash in front of you, his sunglasses hung at his collar, and his eyes darted on you. They were slightly reddened and his pupils were dilated, but a strangely well awaken flame lit his gaze. A light worry passed on his face: “y/n, what are you doing?”

You had a stupid smile painted on your face: “I was dancing! Enjoying, like you told me.” Your gaze lowered and you saw he hadn’t a glass in his hand. “Take something!”

The door of the club opened and you breathed deeply the fresh air of the outside.

He came closer to you and bent to your ear, for you to hear above the music that suddenly became louder. “I think you should go home. It’s late, and- Well, you’ve already partied hard two days ago-”

You laughed loudly and moved back to look at him: “What are you saying? You say that? I definitely think you should drink something…”

“y/n.” There was a certain urge in his tone – that you didn’t perceive, seeing your state. “I don’t want you to make a mistake.”

You puffed; “What? I didn’t drink that much and you know I’m not into hard things, just a blunt sometimes…”

He was sighing when Lars joined you. He said, looking at you; “I found you back!” He turned to Slash: “James’s sleeping on the table, what did you to him?”

Both of you giggled and you had to clamp your hand on the wall next to you to not crash yourself on the floor. Slash talked louder to get both of your attention back: “I was saying that y/n should maybe go home. There are plenty of taxis outside.”

You looked around you and the landscape started to turn dangerously. You clawed at your belly and frowned in concentration. “Yeah, I think too… What time is it?”

“4am.”

You opened wide eyes but closed them right away as it gave you nausea. You went back fully on your feet. “Right. I’ll grab a taxi.”

You passed in front of Slash’s worried face and pushed the door with both hands, seeming a lot heavier than when you entered. Luckily, a taxi was a bit further and you raised your arm. The fresh air helped you see a bit clearer, but your members were slow and you stumbled, your knees giving up. You already saw yourself splayed on the ground but you quickly saw someone jump in front of you and felt two arms catching you below the armpits. You raised your head and saw Lars’ face, as close as he was from you five minutes ago on the dancefloor. “You’re alright?”

You didn’t answer and looked at him, trying to transmit the answer by the sight. He helped you go back to your feet and accompanied you till the taxi, still supporting you.

“How do you do to still be on your feet? Seriously…”

You stopped there to avoid tempting your stomach to take an opportunity to empty itself. He answered something you didn’t get and you don’t know how, but ended up lying on the backseat of the taxi.

The next scenes appeared to you by flashes. You barely acknowledged the passing lights of the road, the taximan speaking, speaking again, getting out of his car… Woaw, was it someone holding you in his arms? You felt yourself behind held and mechanically closed your arms around this person’s neck… Yeah, this voice. You knew it.

You suddenly felt the pleasant sensation of cold sheets against your skin and sleep definitely took you.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing you felt waking up that morning was an astounding headache. You reflexively clamped your hand on your forehead and let out a complaint, frowning. You opened your eyes and blinked, the bright sun of May already well high in the sky, illuminating the room.

After long minutes, you managed to sit on the edge of the bed, and after even longer minutes, to go on your feet without stumbling nor having the room turning around you.

You opened the door and felt the first enjoyable sensation of the day; coffee smell. You even had the impression it soothed your still beating headache. Your legs led you to the kitchen; Axl was there, back at you, but turned when he heard you enter. His eyes narrowed and he took his well-known _“I’m pissed”_ expression.

You let yourself fall on a chair.

“You enjoyed yourself?”

You didn’t think, scared activating your brain would double the stabbing knives inside your head and answered directly: “I don’t remember.”

And that was true. You vaguely remembered hanging out with Slash in a club.

He went to put a cup of coffee in front of you and you had a hope this discussion was over following this affectionate gesture, but he stepped back, grabbed something from the counter and threw it at you; a magazine landed right in front of you on the table in a paper noise. You eyed the cover; a picture of a famous couple at their wedding, judging their outfits, were smiling to each other – their names were printed in huge letters, framed by secondary titles.

You lifted your gaze towards him and raised eyebrows: “Axl, I don’t know how Robert Downey Junior’s wedding pictures are going to help me remember what happened last night.” You grabbed your cup and drank, closing your eyes when the hot beverage passed your throat.

He crossed his arms on his chest and said through gritted teeth: “Page five.”

You sighed; your mind wasn’t at a treasure hunt. After throwing him a defying look, you took the magazine and opened it page five.

All bitchy expression left your face and your eyes widened; the half of the page was filled with a blurry picture of you and Lars. At least, Axl was right, this did help you. Everything that happened came back to you all at once. A paparazzi certainly took the pic when Lars was leading you to your cab. You remembered you had nearly fallen and he caught you back. During a second, you had lifted your chin and your faces had been close; but you had gotten back to your feet right after.

But of course, the picture had been taken at that particular second, judging the very little space between your noses, his arms under your armpits. In big yellow letters was written _“METTALICA’S DRUMMER AND AXL ROSE’S GIRLFRIEND SEEN TOGETHER”_ , accompanied by a little paragraph in bold: _“Lars Ulrich and Axl Rose (lead singer from Guns n’ Roses) together? Last night, the two have been photographed embracing each other going out of a pub. In less than a month, the two top-of-the-chart bands are uniting for an American tour – what will this hold for our rockstars?”_

The article ran along the end of the page and the first quarter of the next. You wondered what they could have said about something that never happened, but decided to not carry on your reading under Axl’s inquisitive look. His features were tensed, angry – and got even more when you pushed back the paper half-laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re taking this seriously, aren’t you?”

Axl believing articles in stupid magazines was unbelievable – one laying on your kitchen table even more. “Who gave you that? The neighbour hoping drama will happen in the street?”

But he wasn’t sharing your light tone: “I worry about you all night long because you literally vanished after staying five minutes here, to have a taximan ringing at the door at nearly five in the morning for me to take you out of his car because you blacked out?”

Your face fell a bit as light guilt spread in your chest.

“To find _that_ in the newspaper?”

“Axl, you know it’s bullshit. I could be in a picture next to the President and they would say the same. This is aimed at you; my name doesn’t even appear. They don’t like you, and they’re making you pay it.” It wasn’t the first, nor would be the last Axl was dragged by the magazines, sometimes with you as a way of reaching for him. The argument seemed to work at first but he frowned; “You are literally in his arms, y/n. Faces touchin-”

You slammed your hand on the table to make him stop.

“I was falling and he caught me back! But you have another idea at the back of your head, don’t you? You want me to tell you we were passionately kissing in the street at four in the morning? Perfect. Here you are; I was kissing a man I had met not even ten hours earlier in an empty street. Happy? Oh, and you know what: ask Slash, he was there. Maybe you’ll manage to make him say we had a big orgy inside of the club.”

You got up and locked yourself in the bathroom.

But you weren’t mad.

You had a strange feeling; it was like everything Axl had said was right, and that you were guilty; that you were kissing Lars this night, and that he was now confronting you.

You sat on the toilet.

You thought about the paragraph’s last sentence: _what will this hold for our rockstars?_

The question stayed suspended and you heard a shy knock at the door.


	5. Chapter 5

_17 th of July 1992_

More than two months had passed since the picture of Lars and you had appeared in the magazine. Apparently, no one really cared; this one only had reported the “news” and no one had searched for more details. You hadn’t seen nor talked to Lars either, and after you managed to convince Axl nothing, in fact, had happened, things went relatively well – let’s say back to normal. It was hand in hand that you had climbed into the taxi to join JFK airport to take off to Washington DC, where the first show took place the evening. The hot sun of July was beating hard on the tarmac when the jet landed at Dulles airport. The flight was not long; it hadn’t lasted more than three hours and a half but Slash opened his eyes painfully like it was four in the morning.

Duff stirred: “You think I can let some stuff here? I mean, we’re taking the jet tomorrow, right.”

The manager, who had remained silent at the front, turned – it was the first time he talked since the start of your journey.

“No, don’t. By now, you’re sharing the jet with Metallica between cities. And it’s not this one.”

Axl got up and threw: “And why can’t we keep ours? Theirs are better than this one?”

You rolled your eyes; you knew he said that to say something only. The manager sighed and said on a tone that ended all discussion: “First, it’s not _your_ jet, and secondly, it won’t be _their_ jet. Now everyone goes out, we need to pass by the hotel before going to the arena.”

Cars were waiting for you outside; now began the real journey. From that moment, your days would be organised like a clockwork.

“You’ll never guess tonight’s party guest.”

Axl had balanced his travel bag on the bed and passed his arms around your waist. You cocked an eyebrow: “The what?”

He laughed: “Tonight! The afterparty of the show.”

You puffed. During tours, when you spent several days in a city, Axl usually threw afterparties, but…

“But Axl, we’re in Washington one night only. It’s crazy-”

“Shh. Don’t underestimate me. I decided to invite the best guests following the cities we’re in.”

Both of you grinned; you were sure you would spend a good night; but at midday you had to fly back south… Anyway. What could go wrong?

A sharp knock on the door made both of you turn your head. Axl yelled the door wasn’t locked and three seconds later, Ivan Page, the manager of the tour, planted himself in front of you, smiling widely.

“Axl, it would be good if we go now, for rehearsals and all. The stadium isn’t at more than five minutes by car…”

He rolled his eyes and threw you a _“Got to go”_ look. You decided to stay in the hotel room to unpack at your ease, and next time you watched the clock on the nightstand, it was 7.20pm – forty minutes before the show. Esteeming it was time to go, you got out and headed to the elevators. Elevator that opened on…

“Lars?”

You blinked and both of you stared at each other for seconds: it was the automatic closing door that took you back and made him extend an arm to keep it opened while you entered. After two rather awkward seconds, he puffed: “You seem surprised to see me!”

You answered quickly: “Surprised to see you now here. I mean, the show’s in a bit more than half an hour… Aren’t you supposed to be there already?”

You both got out and crossed the hall. He looked at his watch and said: “Yeah… Probably.”

Outside, Lars’ assigned cab was the only one to still be there, the taximan laying against it. You blinked: “You managed to be more late than the entire Guns n’ Roses band. Congratulations, this is a record.”

You didn’t see his reaction as you were climbing in the car and said: “You say that, but you seemed surprised to see me too.”

He seemed a bit embarrassed and passed a hand in his hair: “Oh, hum… Yeah, I quite wondered what you were doing here at first. There I remembered.” He stopped and quickly added, as he thought it was necessary: “You’re here as Axl Rose’s girlfriend.”

You didn’t answer anything. You knew it was a simple fact – true fact – but it made your heart pinch. You had heard that like he had said something like _“Axl Rose’s guitar”_ or _“Axl Rose’s bottle of water”_ – like you were only there to lie in a corner, waiting to be necessary.

“You know, I’m not only Axl’s girlfriend. I am more than that. I have a name.” You said that thinking about the article in the magazine – article that only called you “Axl Rose’s girlfriend” and not even mentioned you by your real name.

He stuttered: “Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, I didn’t mean that, I just…”

Nice, now you felt stupid.

You didn’t cross his gaze when you got out of the car nor waited when you climbed the stairs, but you heard him run behind you to catch you back. You just wanted to do as if nothing happened; and apparently he had the same idea, as both entered and let yourselves being led towards the backstage in silence. You arrived in a corridor where names were written on the doors, but you hadn’t had the time to turn your face to read one than a man planted himself in front of you. “The show is in fifteen minutes and it’s now that you show yourself?”

The manager had nearly yelled and every door opened three seconds later. You saw Slash and Duff’s faces pass by a door frame and frown when their gazes alternated between Lars and you. Axl suddenly got out of the same room to see what was going on and his face froze when he saw who you were with. Right next to you, the door opened so violently that you jumped; James got out and took you by the shoulders when he saw your face – nearly spilling his beer all on you. “y/n! I’m so glad to see you again. How have you been?” By the corner of your eye, you saw a guy sitting on a chair in his changing room, frowning at you over his magazine; his hair directly made you think about Slash, but you didn’t know him.

You couldn’t repress a smile and opened your mouth to answer, but the manager, looking pissed, clapped in his hands like a high school teacher to calm pupils: “Quiet! Metallica, you open today – I want you now in the wings.”

James let go of you and left with his bandmates to the end of the corridor, the manager following them, still looking fed up. Lars quickly glanced at you before leaving, and you closed your eyes when he passed next to Axl – but nothing happened. In seconds, you found yourselves alone in the corridor, Axl in front of you four metres away, Duff and Slash throwing both of you looks, gauging if the situation was going to explode or not. You stepped towards him: “What?”

Axl squinted: “What _what_? What was he doing there?”

You decided to play dumb: “Axl. He’s performing here. It’s-”

He rose his hand to make you stop: “Don’t pla-”

You grabbed his hand and pushed him in the empty room facing theirs and closed the door to the others. You turned; “If you’re going to yell at me every damn day, I leave. Tomorrow we’ll be in Jersey; New York’s not far. And I’m getting home.”

He stomped his foot on the ground and yelled: “You getting home? _I_ should! It’s you who arrives next to Ulrich, from the hotel, like...”

Your turn to yell: “And? Like what? I defy you to tell me where the problem is.”

His jaw clenched hard and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He turned to the table and grabbed a bottle of hairspray hanging there, that he crashed on the floor. The empty container bounced in a metallic noise and rolled further.

“Wow. I love augmented speeches too.”

You turned and opened the door; Duff was emptying a plastic goblet and Slash threw you a questioning look, but you didn’t stop and turned right, walking fast you didn’t know where.

Music and crowd noise were louder by the time you were advancing in corridors, and in three minutes you arrived in the wings. You let yourself fall on a chair, face falling. People were running around you, tech guys passing with guitars and wires, others with glasses of all sort of things. You don’t know how much time you spent there, looking in the vague, head empty. You vaguely heard the crowd cheering louder at a moment and barely acknowledged music had stopped. Someone was talking in a low voice, then the public cheered even more. Still absentmindedly, you saw someone planting himself in front of you and clear his throat. He had to shyly touch your shoulder for you to lift your head.

“Are you… alright?”

It was the guy you had seen in James’ changing room earlier, but his hair was a lot messier now and glueing his forehead in sweat here and there. You got up like you were on springs and hummed, putting ideas back into place. “Oh, hm, yes, right. And you?”

He laughed quietly. You added; “You’re getting out of stage?”

His laugh faded away and he blinked, not sure if it was an obvious question or a statement. “Oh, yeah. Actually, we’re done, it’s your turn.”

He then pointed at you, like you were in Guns n’ Roses. It made you puff and he let out a breath, like relaxed you were not that bad. Behind him, James and Lars, sweaty and chest heaving, came. Seeing you, the singer raised eyebrows: “y/n, are you alright? Nothing went bad down… there?”

But you hadn’t had time to answer when your attraction got dragged by a passing group next to you. Axl had changed and already had a mic stand in his hands. His face closed when he saw who you were with and you squinted, saying loud enough for him to hear: “Yes. Yes, everything went right.”

Lars cleared his throat: “You want to come with us? We-”

But you didn’t wait for the end of his sentence to empathetically nod and follow their lead.

You spent the next hour – after they all took a shower – in their changing room, chatting and getting to know each other – and finally getting introduced to Kirk. By a moment, James was counting the bottles of beer piling up next to his chair and Kirk was drowned in a magazine, both only listening to Lars and you distractedly, in a deep conversation, when you suddenly heard doors opening and people passing in the corridor. You sat straight; “I should go and wait for Axl out there.”

Lars blinked: “Oh, hum, okay.” He hesitated before saying: “You’re sure?”

You got up and winked, before answering: “Don’t worry, no chance you’ll hear broken dishes. There aren’t any here.”

You walked down the corridor and entered in Axl’s changing room, hopping on the counter. You were smiling, feeling light, not thinking, in fact, about Axl nor broken dishes.

“What is funny?”

You lifted your face.

Axl was in the doorframe, in his bike shorts only, a towel on his shoulders. Behind him, you saw Duff and Slash grabbing things in their room and leaving towards the showers.

He closed the door, still out of breath. When he looked at you, he smiled. His face was relaxed, nearly peaceful – it was the post-show haze, and it was good to see him like that. “Did you wait for me here?”

You hummed, not really answering. Apparently, the answer he understood was good because he approached you and cupped your cheek. He planted his blue eyes in yours; “I would have liked you to assist the show. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I mean, why did I think that you and Lars…” He laughed for himself: “It’s only the second time you see each other.”

A sudden excitation passed in his eyes: “The after show’s in a bit. I can’t wait to get shit-faced.” His face made you laugh with tenderness and he closed the gap between you to kiss you. Before closing your eyes, you spotted the hairspray bottle shining in the corner of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Axl’s so waited afterparty took place in a club near your hotel. All along the trip to it and during the first half an hour at the club, Axl paraded, telling everyone who could hear it he organised everything by himself and that all the guests will be a wonderful surprise. Of course, Metallica was invited but the guys were out of sight at the moment, and the club was slowly filling itself. You could recognize some faces – but it was mostly strippers. You were sat on a table between Slash and Axl, looking at the room with avidity, clutching his glass. At your other side, Slash was eyeing the disc-jokey about to start. He said: “I hope there will be good music. I want a good soundtrack to shag on.” You nearly spat what you had in mouth and looked at him. His gaze had shifted to people in the room, and you swore he was at the market. The same relaxed expression was on his face; adrenaline was still flooding in his veins too, but you doubted it was the only thing flooding in his veins right now.

“Axl!”

You haven’t seen him approach and saw a blond storm taking Axl in his arms.

“Sebastian!”

After letting him go, he hugged you too. You knew him well; Sebastian Bach had become a close friend of Axl. He was currently on tour, and certainly passing in the same city. He tapped on his shoulder; “Thank for inviting me, man. I’m sure it will be the hell of a night!”

Sebastian was a bit younger than you, and always bringing up new ideas to drink as much as possible all along having fun. That’s how you ended up an hour later on a couch of the club, loads of empty glasses around you. You were next to Axl, and Sebastian in front of you. Basically, there was a girl with him and Slash had followed you too. They slowly started to have something else in mind; Sebastian’s _girlfriend_ got up at a moment, telling she had to go to the bathroom and would be right back.

She wasn’t right back at all, and two minutes later, Slash got up and followed the path she had taken. It didn’t seem to bother your friend at all; he was currently watching the ceiling for inspiration. “Oh! I know.” He grinned. “Ever have I ever… climbed high on stage.” He didn’t wait for both of you to answer before emptying his glass in one trait. You laughed; he was being a show himself alone. Axl laughed too and drank; you were quite surprised he had stayed to play, it wasn’t his thing usually.

But you weren’t going to complain about having him next to you.

Sebastian screamed excitedly; “You know the Moscow Music Festival against drugs, back in 89?” He scoffed: “I was soooo high when I went on stage.”

He suddenly seemed to notice something in the crowd and his eyes opened wide; he started to make huge gestures to call who he was seeing. You turned; James, Kirk and Lars were coming towards you, huge smiles on their faces. The three apparently knew Sebastian too; they embraced each other for a while. Seeing all this joy made you smile; contrarily to someone whose face suddenly tensed. Three minutes later, you were all sat tight against each other on the couch; you still next to Axl, and James, Lars and Kirk next to Sebastian.

The young singer was even more excited, if he could; having all those people around him to play his game made him look like a five-year-old at Christmas. He quickly told the new ones, and you started again.

Some time later, the girl who was accompanying Sebastian discreetly sat back next to Kirk – you mentally noted her dishevelled look – and Slash came back diving on the couch next to you. He said: “Hey! You’re still playing that!”

Axl, awkwardly silent since the guys had arrived, took the opportunity; “Yeah, he’s right, what about we-”

“I know!”

Sebastian cut him and Axl threw him a dark look that went unnoticed by him in the dim light. The blond grabbed an empty bottle and clamped it flat on the table, with an excited strength that nearly broke the glass. He had a grin plastered on his face and rubbed his hands together. He said: “Classic spin the bottle, but I dare the chosen ones to drink a shot before kissing.”

James clapped in his hands: “Well I like that!” He bent to eye the couch and seemed to count. He then got up, jumped over the couch and three minutes later had brought back three giggling girls to even the count a bit. Sebastian put his hand on the bottle and turned it in a flick of the wrist. After a single turn, the neck pointed at Sebastian and one of the girls James had just brought. The singer emptied a bottle in two small glasses and both drank it before kissing passionately above the table, everyone cheering around.

The next tour, the bottle was aiming at Sebastian’s left ear and Slash; you nearly chocked when you saw the blond grabbing Slash’s face and clamp his lips on his; Slash sat back next to you swiping his mouth with his sleeve, but couldn’t help but laugh after changing his mind with his own glass.

James was the next to be designed by the bottom of the bottle, but the neck was pointing at the space between Axl and Sebastian; after a heated debate between both where Sebastian said James had to kiss both of them and Axl said he had to turn it again, James simply got up and heatedly kissed the pole standing further. Even Axl laughed to that when Metallica’s singer came back, his expression between pride of having made everyone laugh, and disgust. “I just don’t want to know what happened on this bar, guys.”

While everyone was in the middle of deep laughter, two of the girls left without a word, apparently finding the game a lot less interesting since the bottle seemed to avoid them, but no one saw it. The third James had brought looked at them with hesitation.

At your side, Slash had suddenly fallen asleep, mouth opened, his snoring muffled by the loud music.

Sebastian eagerly spun the bottle with a little too much enthusiasm; it hardly turned but slid further on the table and was stopped by Lars’ left knee and Kirk’s right one. The blond screamed: “It doesn’t matter! The bottom is pointing at Lars and the neck at Kirk. It’s the game.”

Another vague of laughter crossed the group; both cooperated well, though. They tied their hands together and looked into each other’s eyes, biting their lips hard to prevent themselves from laughing. At Lars’ side, James feigned wiping a tear from his cheek.

They kissed under your cheering screams. They kinda looked like they enjoyed it as they took themselves in the arms after and waved like they just came out of church.

James was the next to make the bottle spin; with his force, it turned on itself three times before slowing down. The neck pointed at Lars, Kirk, Sebastian’s girlfriend, the other girl…

At your side, Axl sat a bit straighter and extended his neck to see better. The bottle slowed again, passed Slash and stopped right in front of you. Sebastian made a “Ouuuh” and your gaze ascended the bottle to look at its end to… meet Lars’ blue eyes laid on you.

Sebastian’s hands passed between you to fill two glasses for your shots.

Both of you took it and emptied the glasses. You put it back in a glassy noise on the table and looked back at each other. Sebastian, apparently spending the moment of his life, clapped in his hands: “And now kiss!”

James was too drunk to resonate and followed Sebastian in his actions; Kirk squinted a bit as his gaze went on Axl then you, but still had amusement painted on his face.

You didn’t look at your side. _Fuck it_.

Both of you seemed to think the same; you went on the edge of the couch at the same time, him cupping your cheeks and you grabbing his wrists – you giggled, alcohol making this situation appear very funny to you, and you kissed on the background of Sebastian and James’ “OUUUUH”.

Time felt distorted; you don’t know how many seconds you kept kissing each other, but your smile had faded away and you felt Lars’ fingers press slightly on your skin to keep you there, your grip on his arms tightening as a response. You didn’t hear what happened around you anymore; the truth was, you didn’t really want to be aware of your surroundings right now. You mentally noted you felt Axl’s knee press into your leg at your side, but what made you open your eyes was Slash, choosing this particular moment to wake up and mutter loudly enough for you to hear: “What?”

Both of you let go of each other at the same time and you let yourself fall back sat on the couch, your first reflex being to pass the tip of your tongue on your lips where the taste of Lars’ previous shot was printed.

Sebastian gasped loudly; “And _that_ was a kiss! If only everyone could play like that!” It only encouraged him more and he grabbed once again the bottle to spin it but Axl got up all at once. “I don’t want to play anymore.” He then planted his eyes in yours, furious: “I’m tired. We go back?”

You didn’t answer and Sebastian screamed: “Tired? But man, it’s only four in the morning, I-”

Still looking at you, he cut him: “We have to fly back early tomorrow.”

Everyone around was silent, not daring to say anything – and knowing it was not true. Axl extended his hand to grab your wrist but you moved your arm back quickly to escape his grip although you got up and headed toward the exit, walking fast, without glancing behind you. You heard Sebastian yell something like “But it’s your party!” and felt Axl who had caught you back press into you to urge you even faster outside.

You turned when you passed the door: “What was that?”

He planted himself in front of you and nearly yelled: “ _I_ should ask you that! _You_ kissed him!”

You rolled your eyes: “It was the fucking game Axl. If the bottle had pointed you and a girl that was around the table, you wouldn’t have hesitated a second before jumping on her. And _I_ wouldn’t have said anything!”

Your valid point made him silently open his mouth and you started to walk toward the hotel, two streets away. He ran after you and you added: “That’s right, I’m surprised you haven’t fucked anyone in the corner of the room today. What happened to you tonight?”

You had said the last part on a quite condescending tone, and it doubled his anger: “Oh, I don’t know, maybe that if I had let you-”

You finished his sentence: “What? If you had let me alone I would have done exactly what you’re doing every night you go out?”

He didn’t answer anything but you had reached for the hotel, and he pushed the door with so much anger you thought the glass would break. Your quick steps resonated in the empty hall and he slammed his hand on the button of the elevator. Once inside, you laid against the wall and broke the thick silence: “You know what? I know what you were afraid of.”

He squinted.

“You’re afraid I get too close of La-”

But before you ended your sentence, he crossed the elevator and clamped his lips against yours and pressed himself into your body, the cold surface of the wall pressing on your back. You responded at first and passed your hand in his hair, but you heard the elevator open at your floor. It didn’t seem to disturb him though, but you grabbed his t-shirt and pushed him back.

You walked toward your room. Before getting the key out, you stopped and turned. Axl was right behind you, grinning; apparently he had forgotten the fight and had something else in mind. But it was weird; you weren’t feeling anything right now. _Well, towards him_.

You said: “There are double beds in each room here?”

He blinked, a bit surprised by your question, but his smile didn’t disappear. “Yes, I think.”

You cocked an eyebrow; “Perfect.” You turned your head; you saw Slash slowly getting out of the elevator, having to hug the walls to not fall; but the slick surface wasn’t helping at all and he soon slid on the ground, swearing. Him getting back to the hotel alone was unusual, but perfect for tonight. You made a movement of the chin; “Look, your date has just arrived. Good night.”

Under Axl’s puzzled expression, you locked yourself in your room and after his slow realisation, you heard a frame that was hanging on the wall of the corridor being crashed on the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

When you woke up that morning, you first felt surprised to open your eyes “that” early; usually when you were on tour, you never got up before midday. You blinked at the fluorescent numbers of the alarm clock indicating eleven a.m., but you quickly remembered tonight events. A light headache took you, but it would certainly disappear after eating.

It was weird; you had had a fight with Axl, and it usually prevented you to sleep well – but there, you had fallen asleep as soon as you had touched the bed, and spent a good night in your five stars suit that you were enjoying alone.

After taking a long shower, you got out and went to have breakfast – more dinner, since it was midday now.

You directly noticed Slash, alone at a table in front of a coffee. His head was resting on his hand and threatened to fall in his cup at any given moment as he seemed to be falling asleep. You joined him after serving yourself and let your plate fall on the table in a porcelain noise, which made him jump and nearly lose his sunglasses in the process. Suddenly out of breath, he took some seconds to remember where he was and recognize you.

“Oh, y/n, I…. Good morning.”

You laughed: “Good morning. How was the night?”

He sighed: “Bad. I think I’ll have to need two days to get used to that again. But don’t worry, I’ll soon be the king of heroin again.”

You huffed: “I believe you.”

Seconds passed where he seemed to remember tonight’s events little by little, and you asked: “Hum, you know where Axl is?”

He shook his head no: “I think… I think I saw him in the corridor when I got back in my room tonight, but he got out right away, like he had changed his mind.”

You hummed. He certainly went back to the club after.

The next one to join you was Duff, that you saw arrive from the hall after trying to make two girls leave him the best he could, but they didn’t seem very happy to not being able to stay there. You hadn’t seen him all night long at the club, but got what he was doing now.

He eyed you when he sat: “Wow y/n, you look… good?”

You cocked an eyebrow: “Why the tone of surprise?”

He rolled his eyes, but you got what he meant; it was true you kinda didn’t mix with them, eyes still puffed and barely opened while you were wide awakened now.

The three of you were chatting when your manager met you. He didn’t sit and told you you had ten minutes to finish eating before getting to the airport. When you all got up, you noticed James and the band were eating further. A weird feeling crossed you when you first laid your eyes on him after what happened tonight – feelings you quickly swiped off your mind. When they spotted you, they joined you too. Lars shyly went next to you and asked: “Are you alright?”

You hummed, smiling: “I am. I found the bed very comfortable.”

He didn’t know how to take your light tone, and added: “I mean, Axl…”

You sighed: “I don’t know. I don’t know where he slept.” You were about to say _“And I don’t really care”_ when you saw him enter the hall. He wasn’t alone; a girl was accompanying him, and when he spotted you, he did his maximum to make you see him touch her back, arms and hair, and bent toward her to whisper in her ear tender things. Well, in fact, you knew he was just telling her he had to take the plane and leave and that they would probably never see each other again.

Lars threw you a look, and blinked when he saw you were grinning. You told him: “Look, he just wants to make me pay. But this won’t work.”

He wasn’t really playing well, to be honest; he features had tensed when he saw you weren’t taking this bad – and that Lars _fucking_ Ulrich was next to you _again_.

The trip happened without any feud though; in the taxi you shared with Duff, Slash and Axl, he remained silent while you were chatting with the others; he relaxed a bit when you stayed next to him when you had come out of the car and he was back to normal when you sat next to each other in the plane. He even let his head drop on your shoulder during the flight. Your mood wasn’t at the confrontation, and both of you passed above that night’s events.

After another journey by car, you stepped into your hotel room with Axl. You would stay there for three nights, and the hotel room was even bigger than the previous one.

Your stay in New Jersey started well. Axl’s afterparty after performing at the Giants Stadium was fire; you didn’t sleep that night and didn’t want to know how much you drank, afraid that only would make you throw up. No concert was planned on the 19th and the 20th, and you spent the whole first day in bed with Axl. No afterparty was organised that night and everyone spent the evening and the next day on their own.

They had to play in Pontiac on the evening of the 21st, and it’s on your own too – but the way you used happily paid by the company, of course – that you entered Michigan.

When you woke up on the 21st in the early afternoon, Axl wasn’t next to you. You remembered you had gone out the night, and vaguely reckoned you had come back alone at the hotel. You weren’t worried though, and after painfully getting up and have a shower, you decided to go at the Pontiac Silverdome, where they would be performing in some hours, and there were chances everyone would be there.

You were partially right; you ran into Slash in the corridors, a towel tied around his hair and saluted Kirk in his opened changing room. You heard laughs further and pushed the doors of a meeting room; James, Lars and Duff were around a table filled with French fries and hamburgers. The singer scoffed when he saw you and nearly chocked on what he had in his mouth; “y/n! Come here and eat with us!”

You greeted them and felt something weird when you hugged Lars. It had been two days that you hadn’t seen him and… did you miss him? You shook your head and swiped those thoughts. No, it couldn’t be.

You dragged a chair and sat, soon joined by Slash, hair still wet and strongly smelling shampoo. Around thirty minutes later, Kirk joined you too and sat behind James and Lars, a bit in retreat. You don’t know how much time passed, but the atmosphere was good and cheerful; James was in the middle of a thrilling story about the time when he and Lars shared an apartment when-

“WHERE IS AXL?”

You all turned; the band’s manager was walking towards you furiously. His gaze swiped you all, but stopped on you longer. He was frowning, and weirdly red. You shrugged: “Why are you looking at me?”

He hissed, on a condescending tone: “Because _you_ , y/n, are his _damn_ girlfriend, that’s why.”

Your eyes narrowed. In front of you, Lars found a fly flying near the ceiling suddenly very interesting.

“And so what? Because I’m… I’m his _girlfriend_ I need to stay with him all the time? He’s a grown-ass man, he can handle himself, no?”

The manager cocked an eyebrow, a bit taken aback by your reaction but carried on on the same tone: “No. No, he cannot manage himself alone.” He looked at his watch, pissed. “I want everyone in the wings in half an hour.” He left, pestering under his breath.

James shrugged: “The wings are just next door, we’re large. Lars, can I finish your fries?”

The drummer didn’t answer, but James didn’t wait for him though before grabbing his paper. Duff nudged at your side: “Hey, y/n.”

He bent towards you and you pricked up your ear. He was talking on the tone of confidence: “What is going on? With Axl?”

You hummed: “Why is everyone asking me wh-”

He cut you. “No, not that.” He shrugged, apparently finding this a bit funny: “When the manager talked about you being Axl’s girlfriend… y/n, it was like he was insulting you.”

He laughed and took his glass that he finished all at once. You faked a laugh too for the good measure and got back straight on your chair. You suddenly felt guilty and moved back: “Guys, I… I think I need to look after Axl.”

…


	8. Chapter 8

…

“Guys, I… I think I need to look after Axl.”

You got up, James saying something you didn’t get as his mouth was full and Lars following you with his gaze.

You didn’t know where to go; was he in your hotel room? Still outside?

Your steps were resonating in the corridors and you mindlessly watched right and left; but you stopped. Axl’s changing room’s door was slightly opened. You headed to it and pushed slowly. Your eyes opened wide: “Axl!”

He sat straight on the chair at once, his hair glued on his cheek. He had deep dark circles and bloodshot eyes. You ran to him and knelt in front of him; you noticed a bucket between his legs. “Axl, where were you?”

“I- I stayed at the bar where we were in yesterday and-”

He hadn’t time to end his sentence when he emptied his stomach into the bucket. You got up and passed behind him to remove his hair from his face when your manager entered the room. You lifted your head: “He’s sick, he-”

He cut you: “Metallica will perform first.” He looked at Axl, still head in the bucket: “You have an hour to be able to sing again.”

You shot him with your eyes when he got out, and Duff and Slash’s curious faces appeared in the door frame. You basically spent Metallica’s time set helping Axl to get better, and it kinda succeeded; he had caught back colours and ate a bit before joining the wings with the others. When they got out of the scene and the Guns entered, Lars joined you.

“How is he?”

“Good… I think.”

He hummed. “You stay there?”

You glanced at him, then Axl and hesitated. Well, he didn’t need you there, did he? You walked with Lars and met the others down backstage. It was close to the stage; so close you could hear the band playing and the crowd’s cheers clearly. So clearly that at a moment, you heard the public booing, even though the music was still playing – but you couldn’t hear Axl anymore. You frowned and exchanged looks with the others, but before you could say anything, you saw a ginger storm run in the corridor by the opened door. You stormed outside and ran after him to meet him in the toilets. He looked bad; he was very pale and holding his belly from pain.

“Axl, you need to st-”

“No! I have three or four songs left, I can do it.”

After five minutes, you brought him back toward the stage, worried, under Slash and Duff’s questioning looks. You decided to stay there and wait for him; he came back, apologized for the interruption and they started the song they were performing again. The following songs were ballads, calmer, and he managed to finish the show. After bowing briefly, he came back to you and crashed on a chair you had brought. The others joined you, wondering what was going on.

“Axl, you need to rest, or at least take something.” You turned to Slash: “Babysit him.” He opened his mouth to say something but you turned back and got out of the wings. In the corridor, you fell face to face with Lars, apparently on his way to see what was going on. You quickly said: “I need to go to a drug store or something. I’m kina concerned…”

“Let me come with you.”

You blinked. “You… With me? I mean, you’ll wander in the streets in the middle of the crowd?”

He huffed: “Believe it or not, but people don’t always recognize me, so as long as we don’t fall on a band of fans…”

You nodded and both of you left the stadium, going into the city.

It was dark outside, streetlights only illuminating the streets; luckily, the crowd getting out of the stadium was going in the opposite direction.

You paid attention to not lose yourself in a city you didn’t know, but you were right thinking a drug store wouldn’t be that far; what you had been stupid for, however, was to think any shop would be opened in the middle of the night.

You swore as you had arrived in front of the closed building. You turned to Lars; “There should be an opened one. There is always an opened drugstore, no?”

He didn’t say anything and hummed, looking at you a bit worried. You didn’t pay attention to that and carried on walking around the city-centre, but without success. After turning around a little less than half an hour, Lars dared to say: “You know, it wasn’t that serious, it’s okay if we don’t bring back-”

You cut him: “No, it’s not.” You directly felt bad for answering violently; you knew he didn’t mean any hurt. He took your tone seriously though as he blinked and scoffed: “y/n, think. He vomited because he spent the whole night, and maybe day drinking alcohol. His body gave up, that’s it.”

You stopped walking and looked at him. You knew he was right, but his sudden far-seeing about something he wasn’t in irritated you. “Lars, you don’t know him. Don’t talk about him like you do.”

You started walking again and mechanically took back the path towards the stadium. He followed you and carried on: “And so what? You think he’s still waiting for you peacefully inside the stadium? y/n, open your eyes; he’s certainly already in the club, drinking like he hadn’t been sick at all with a striper right on his lap-”

You had turned all of a sudden and slapped him.

The sound of your hand right on his cheek resounded in the street and some people turned, but luckily didn’t recognize Lars and carried on walking. He blinked, surprised, and gulped.

Anger was spreading in your chest; not because he had insulted Axl in a way, but because he was so right.

You felt a peak of guilt when he scrubbed his reddening cheek, but none of you said anything. After some seconds eyeing each other in the streetlight, he said on a low tone: “He doesn’t care about you.”

It made your heart drop. You felt the insides of your eyes tickle dangerously and thanked the night’s luminosity, hoping it wouldn’t be too visible and nearly whispered: “Why are you telling me that? To hurt me?” You sighed and started to walk again. “Do you even care?”

You really didn’t get it. Why was he telling you that? If it had pissed him off to come with you, why did he decide to?

You weren’t even aware he was discreetly leading you towards the club Axl had organised his after-party in. Once in front, he pushed the door, and when you entered, a wave of heat took both of you; people were dancing and the smell of a lot of things was floating in the air.

But no need to advance more.

From where you were and due to the club’s architecture, you could have a general sight of the place; so, your eyes directly spotted Axl in the room.

He was splayed out in a couch, a cigarette in his hand, a bottle of champagne in the other, all smile. And as he had heard Lars’ previous speech, a striper was sitting on his lap.

Your breath got caught in your throat. Usually, this sight would have been indifferent to your eyes; but something seemed wrong. All envy of partying left you all at once and you got out directly.

You hadn’t seen Lars had followed you and jumped when he put a hand on your shoulder – that he directly took back. You didn’t dare to look at him in the eyes, feeling ashamed. You stuttered: “I… I think I’ll go back to the hotel.”

“I’m coming with you.”

You looked at him and he quickly added: “I mean, let me accompany you back there.”

You huffed: “You’re scared someone will attack me? This city looks dead.”

A smile had appeared on his face when you started to walk; he seemed to breathe again when he had seen this positive expression on your face.

Your walk happened in silence; but not a weird one. Anyway, you were too tired emotionally to speak and mentally thanked him to not insist to make the conversation.

You stopped in front of the double doors of the big building and turned.

“I think you can leave me here.” You tapped his arm: “Go back and have fun.”

He huffed. Your eyes went on his mouth; he opened it, but nothing came out, like he hesitated to say something. That’s when your eyes came back to his that you noticed you were kinda close.

You drew a breath.

Two seconds passed.

Was the gap between you narrowing?

From the corner of your eyes, you saw a red form moving and suddenly got back, Lars mirroring your actions.

It was a guy who worked for the hotel that was going out to keep the entry.

You cleared your throat and looked at your feet to hide your blushing cheeks and Lars passed his hand in his hair, looking away too. Not lifting your face, you said: “I think I’ll go inside. See you tomorrow.”

He didn’t move either and said: “Yeah, good night.”

Then at the same time, you turned and left in opposite directions.

You didn’t sleep well that night; you saw every hour scrolling on the alarm of your nightstand. You were still well awake when Axl came nearly to throw himself next to you on the bed, but didn’t say anything.


	9. Chapter 9

The next week happened without any special event, Lars and you carefully not speaking about the floating moment that had happened between you in front of the hotel doors – luckily, no awkwardness came between you. During the day following their concert in Michigan, a certain respect had installed itself between Axl and Metallica. James had told you it was good from Axl to “have come back on stage after being sick and finish the show”, and that “with everything we hear about him usually, he had thought he would have ended the show.”

But it hadn’t lasted long; everything went as good as it could during the shows and nothing degenerated during the afterparties, but the atmosphere quickly got thicker during the short hours both bands had to spend together before shows.

You don’t know if it was tiredness or Axl’s dark side showing up, but he was annoying.

 _Very_ annoying.

One day, he had decided his request list for what he needed wasn’t on point anymore.

Everyone had one; it comported everything one needed for the tour, going from their potential allergies for food to how many bottles of beer – or vodka – they wanted in their changing rooms before and after shows.

After yelling on poor technicians who didn’t know what he was talking about and managers, he finally managed to modify it. But it wasn’t the end; one day, you were eating in a meeting room, as usual, of the Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh where they were about to perform when he exploded a bottle of water against the wall.

You were alone in the room at that moment, but you quickly heard hurried steps in the corridors, and Slash and Kirk’s curly-haired faces passed by the door frame.

Lars arrived three seconds later, letting a breath when he saw you were alright, but frowned when he saw that instead of looking afraid or whatever, you looked pissed. He had thrown the bottle to the other side of the room of where you stood, and a huge humid spot was staining the dark-blue paint. He didn’t pay attention to the new arrivals and carried on: “I can’t believe it! Who do they think they are? Can’t they read? It’s so simple!”

He looked at you. You were arms crossed, eyes narrowed; he was basically _just_ angry, but you knew he had lost it when you didn’t agree with him and refused to go in his way.

“Axl, you’re not serious. It’s so childi-”

You sighed and gave up to end your sentence when he stormed out of the room, nearly bumping into his bandmate when he got out. James came at that moment, and Lars threw you an interrogative look. “He had ham in slices instead of cubes…”

You knew earlier that month, everyone would have laughed, finding this ridiculous, even funny. Slash yet drew a little smile, but Kirk and Lars exchanged a look and James sighed. You knew they weren’t bitching about it because you were there, but you surely would have preferred them to openly mock him than feel a masked pity towards the band, and mostly towards you.

Due to Axl’s general behaviour, you spent less and less time with him and more and more time with the others. You always had a good time with James, Lars and Kirk – and you joyfully noticed they appreciated Slash a lot too. Plus, you weren’t even sure Axl noticed it, spending his time outside. To be clear, the only moments you spent together were during the days off and during the very short hours you spent in the hotel.

You hadn’t any show on the 27th and 28th of July, and it luckily lightened the mood a bit. Your nights had been extended for some hours and everyone felt it. It was in a rather good atmosphere that you all took the plane to fly to New Jersey for tonight’s show at the Giants Stadium. The flight happened peacefully, Axl having apparently forgotten his stories of ham in cubes and Lars’ and you’s good friendship.

You suspected this sudden calm from Axl to be linked to the throat pain he had been complaining about for some days now, him wanting to preserve his voice the best he could – sacrificing yelling for everything, then.

Once again, Metallica was opening the show and the band and you decided to stay in the wings during their part, and same with the others.

Everything was fine for the first half of the Guns’ time set, but of course, it went wild.

Slash was playing _Knocking on Heaven’s Door_ ’s solo eyes closed, deep in concentration, and Axl went at the edge of the scene. He started singing again, and your eyes got attracted by a little shiny material you thought you recognized as a cigarette lighter thrown at… his genitals. He stopped, and eyed the public with dark eyes. Music was still playing, and he went to Duff, puzzled as he didn’t see what happened, and said something in his ear. Under the crowd’s shouts, the bassist advanced in front of a mic and started to sing the rest of the song. It calmed the crowd though, while Axl stormed in the wings. He spotted you and sat on the floor in front of your form, without saying anything – not even throwing a dark look at Lars, sitting next to you. You exchanged a look with him, lost, and eyed Axl. You couldn’t read his face, you couldn’t say if he was really in pain or whatever; he just stayed there, features closed, looking straight in front of him.

When he had finished the song and the musicians had stopped, Duff cleared his throat and said, hesitating; “Thank you Rutherford! Hum… See you!”

By the time people acknowledged the show was actually over after only thirty minutes of show from them, they started booing but everyone had already escaped the stage. Duff and Slash ran to you, their gazes going from you to Axl – still sat there on the ground. Feeling everyone looking at him, he lifted his chin: “Did you see that? I can’t believe it. This person… God I didn’t see who it was, but I swear I prevented myself to jump and tell him what I think!”

No one said anything. You were shared between laughing, exploding from rage and openly start to mock him. Lights went brighter on stage to help the angry crowd escape the stadium and Axl hopped on his feet.

He said: “I think I need a shower before going to the club.”

And without any other word, he left.

A minute passed.

You got up so violently the plastic chair fell and you hurried behind him.

But it wasn’t to join him; you locked yourself in an empty locker room. There was a couch with several pillows; you headed to it, grabbed one and literally screamed into it.

The light relief you had felt those past days had vanished all at once. He was doing anything to be detestable, and you hated it.

You don’t how many minutes you stayed there, in the empty changing room, but somehow decided that it wouldn’t prevent you from partying tonight.

You got up and left the stadium at the same time as the latest fans.

You went out by the side entry, and saw someone was waiting for you outside, hands in his pockets. Lars lifted his head, but waited for you to speak first.

“I’m sorry.”

He blinked.

“You were right the other day, he… He…”

But you couldn’t manage to say it.

He scoffed: “It’s not your fault. Don’t apologize. What do you want to do?”

“Well, drink. Let’s go at that afterparty and see today’s guest.”

He grinned and both of you went to the club near the stadium. When you entered, it was already full and the music was bumping loudly. You somehow managed to join James and Kirk and stayed with them for a while.

At a moment, Lars and you decided to go and grab other glasses when your journey to the bar got interrupted by sudden high-pitched screams. You turned; from where you were, you could guess people had gotten back and freed space in the middle of the club, like to watch a wrestling match. You exchanged a look with Lars; a bad presentment crossed your body. Him behind you, you managed to reach for the “first row” with difficulty; your eyes widened when you saw what was going on.

Axl was standing there, fists clenched at his sides, looking angry. He hissed: “It’s you, admit it!”

You turned your face to see who he was talking to; at the other side of the oval-shaped space was standing a blond man, surprise on his face and hands raised in a surrendering way. You squinted: his face looked familiar…

He said, his voice sounding mild-amused mild-scared: “Hey, man, I don’t even know what you’re talking about… Want to discu-”

Axl rose an accuser finger: “What are you doing _here_ then? Apart to parade proudly in this club, at _my_ party?”

He squinted: “You… invited me.”

A beat passed.

You moved the person in front of you and went next to Axl. You said through gritted teeth: “What the hell are you doing?”

He turned his face to you, but kept his defying stare: “I’m sure he threw the lighter on me during the concert. It’s his fault if we had to stop!”

“I tell you I didn’t! I wasn’t even there, for god’s sake.”

You turned your head to the man speaking. Now than the light was in his favour, you recognized him. You noticed he had cut his hair, that’s certainly why you couldn’t replace him earlier. You turned back to Axl, and told him, on the same confidential tone: “Axl, why would Jon Bon Jovi throw a lighter in your balls during your show?”

Behind you, you heard someone clap in his hands and shout: “Everyone gets back to what they were doing! The show is done!” You recognize Lars’ voice and people around you started to talk again going back to their previous discussions – it wasn’t that interesting, in the end. From the corner of your eye, you saw Jon turn back and grab a brown-haired man by the arm, certainly heading to the exit. Axl extended his neck and looked at Lars above your head but you got his attention back: “Axl, what’s going on?”

When he laid his gaze on you, his eyes were tired and reddened. You grabbed his hand and walked toward the door, not risking a glance behind your back.

Once outside, he sat on a low wall between a bunch of people smoking. You planted yourself in front of him.

“I thought your vocal cords hurt you.”

“They do.”

“Then why the fuck are you screaming like that? On people who didn’t do anything to you?”

He paused.

“I was just so angry, y/n. I had to stop the show, and-”

“No, no you didn’t _have_ to stop the show, Axl. Are you serious? One week ago, you vomit your soul into the toilets and go back on stage to finish, and today someone throws something at you and you end it?”

He looked at you, eyebrows furrowed, like he didn’t get why you didn’t understand him.

“It was not… nice, Axl.”

He sighed and said, more to end this boring conversation than anything else: “Alright. I’m going to get back inside, and apologize.”

“It’s too late. I think he left.”

He hummed and got up. “Right then. We go back?”

You looked at him. So much was wrong with this. You had too many things to tell him than your brain froze when he turned.

“No.”

His turn to freeze and turn his head. “What?”

You scoffed: “No, I’m not getting back there with you. You just… harassed a man in there and you’ll go back and wander in that club like nothing happened?”

You had put all your resentment for the last events in that sentence, and he cocked an eyebrow: “What y/n? I’m making you ashamed?”

You hesitated at first, but answered: “You know what? Yes, yes you do. You want examples? Well, I don’t even know where to start!”

People around you had stopped talking and were looking at you. You thought Axl was going to yell, or grab whatever he could at that moment to crash it on the ground but he did worse; he laughed.

It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but a genuine one, like he really found all of this really funny. He made a movement of the hand like to chase a fly and definitively turned to go back inside. You followed him with your gaze, and that’s only now you noticed Lars had followed you and was next to the entry – not even noticed by Axl, certainly too deep in his laughter to. He approached you, but you didn’t wait to talk: “I’m not getting back inside. It-”

“I know a bar further down the street.”


	10. Chapter 10

Your hand went instinctively on your cheek.

Your skin below your fingers was hot due to the sun directly aiming at your face, and you frowned.

But it didn’t make you move though; the bed was too comfortable to make you want to get up. The haze you were in right now mobilized your whole mind; the duvet hugging you just right, your leg sticking out of it to keep you cool, your face half pressed into the pillow, an arm holding you tight, the calming heat of the sleeping body next to you…

Thinking about it later, you still don’t know why this didn’t make you move at that moment.

Minutes passed before your screaming stomach decided you to at least open your eyes.

As you felt it, the room was drowned in sun; from your lying position, you could see the cloudless sky as the curtains weren’t closed.

You vaguely noticed your clothes scattered all over the room, and your eyes went on the forearm pressed on your belly. Now, your stomach really made noise; it rumbled like you hadn’t eaten for days and you heard hum behind you, felt movements and a sleepy “Hungry…?”

You scoffed first and opened your mouth to answer, but the next seconds happened really fast. When your brain recognized the voice, you had suddenly sat straight and jumped further on the bed, carefully dragging the sheets with you. He had done the same, going back flat against the headboard.

Five seconds passed where you eyed each other, no one daring to be the first to talk.

A sudden knock at the door ended the silence.

“Lars?”

You directly recognized Slash’s voice. He didn’t answer though, and, the guitarist knocked again, speaking louder.

“Y-yes?”

His voice had been quiet, unsure, but apparently loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. “Yeah, uh, it’s Slash.”

Two seconds.

“Sorry to wake you up, but I was looking for y/n, and, uh, do you know where she is?”

His gaze hadn’t left you, and his eyebrows lifted, like to ask you what to say; but it was like you were petrified. In front of the lack of answer, Lars said: “Hum, why?”

“Well, I know Axl and her kind of fought this night, and we haven’t seen her all night long.”

Something passed on his face; “And so, why doesn’t _he_ look for her?”

You gulped and heard Slash hummed unease behind the door: “Well, he cannot really do it right now.”

“Why? Is he passed out, drunk somewhere?”

“Uh, no. He’s currently at the New York hospital. Well, if you see y/n, just tell her to meet me down in the hall, right?”

You heard him leave the doorstep, but you were already standing, looking for your clothes. You had put back your underwear when you turned to him: “Are you mad?”

You had nearly yelled, not thinking about Slash still potentially being able the hear.

He blinked: “What?”

You huffed: “You, like, just insulted him? Who are you for that?”

His turn to huff mockingly: “Who I am? Well, in bed with his girlfriend, here is who I am.”

You had just passed your head by your t-shirt and threw him an offended look: “We don’t even know if something happened.”

You knew it was very stupid from you to say that, as you had both woken up completely naked embracing each other. You quickly added: “Well, I don’t remember.”

You bent to grab your jeans and didn’t see his reaction. You got fully dressed in silence and suddenly heard the bed squeal; he got up draped in the bedsheet and came to you; “Listen, I-”

“No. Not now.”

Without looking at him, you crossed the room and walked to the elevator quickly.

You were in the hall in two minutes, still a bit dishevelled, and Slash got up from where he was, directly seeing you.

“What happened?”

“His throat. It was really bad this morning, he thought it would be good to pass by the private hospital to check that. Seen that we’ve got a week free…” He eyed you. Your gaze had left his face and wandered above his shoulder, in the vague. “I was about to say ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious’ but I see it doesn’t really preoccupate you.”

This was enough for you to shoot back your eyes towards him; his mocking tone destabilized you and you blinked. But instead of confronting him, you just said: “Slash. I think I made a mistake.”

He hummed: “I think I would be pissed too if I didn’t remember having sex.”

You opened your mouth and froze a second.

“W-what- How do you know?”

He laughed and put his hand at your back to start walking.

“It wasn’t really hard to figure out.”

You crossed the corridor in silence.

“Slash. Does he… know?”

He suddenly looked concerned.

“No. I don’t think he remembers a lot of what happened last night.”

The doors opened and you jumped in the already waiting car. He removed his sunglasses and looked at you; you couldn’t repress a scoff at how exhausted – and the word was weak – he looked. He didn’t pay attention to your reaction and battled his bloodshot eyes: “He woke me up this morning, our manager is fucking unfindable.”

He let his head fall back, but didn’t have the time to fall asleep you were already there. Your friend led you to a wing where you wouldn’t be disturbed and he motioned you a door. “Imma stay outside, I think…”

You left him sure to find him back fast asleep when you would get out when you entered the room. When he heard noise, Axl turned and threw you sad eyes, which made your heart tighten for a lot of reasons.

He made a gesture towards his throat and walked towards you to take you in his arms. All along his embrace tightened around you, your heart fell lower and lower in your chest. He managed to say, in a raspy voice: “God, we’re lucky we have a free week now. I wouldn’t have been able to sing like that.”

He moved back still holding you to look for your gaze. He had dark circles due to the short night, but he was smiling.

“And I’m glad to spend a week with you.”

His smile faded a bit when he noticed your somewhere between sad and concerned expression.

“Is everything alright?”

You shook your head slightly and stuttered: “Y-yeah, it’s just… Short night. You know.”

He smiled again and proposed to go back to the hotel to grab your stuff.

As you had guessed, Slash was soring loudly, splayed out on four plastic chairs hung to the wall when you got back. The wind was blowing hard outside, and the three of you had eyes hidden by hair when you entered the hall, so it is the manager’s voice first who reached for your ears.

Axl opened his mouth: “What? You’re going to ground me, now?”

His raspy, painful voice made the attack come out in a weak plead more than anything, and you swore the man repressed a remark when he acknowledged Axl’s state. You motioned Slash you were going up and aimed at the elevators, leaving them there.

The corridor was empty and your steps muffled by the carpet when you suddenly felt someone grip your arm and drag you. In two seconds, the door of a little cupboard closed on both of you.

You blinked, your eyes slowly getting used to the darkness: “Oh my god Lars, what the-”

“I think we need to talk, don’t we?”

He had certainly chosen this place to be discreet, but he was speaking on a perfectly normal tone tainted of anger. The only light in the closet came from between the blinds who drew clear stripes on your forms. One of them highlighted his blue eyes, darted on you.

You crossed your arms on your chest, your surprise of the situation still occupying your mind more than your feelings: “And what do you want to know?”

You had wanted that to come out on a strong voice, but your peaking anxiousness betrayed you. Looking at him in the eyes only solicited all your strength.

He passed a hand in his hair, and silence fell.

“I don’t regret this.”

“It was a big mistake.”

Both had talked at the same time and you clamped your hand on your mouth – but it was too late. Lars blinked and huffed in a laugh without joy; “Mistake? W- How?”

_He was right. What did you mean?_

“Lars, I…”

You closed your eyes, like you were about to swallow a big medicine.

“I think I kind of lost my temper. I appreciate you, but I love Axl. And…”

You didn’t add anything and opened your eyes. He was mouth open, eyeing you like he finally discovered you; and a horrible feeling spread in your chest.

“I don’t believe you.”

Well, this was an unexpected reaction. You nearly forgot what you had just said and scoffed: “Excuse me? Because you know how I feel?”

“Well, maybe more than you think! Come on, who do you spend most of the time with? And I’m sure he hasn’t even had noticed you weren’t in your room tonight. Did he say something about it?”

Heat covered your face, and you thanked the dim light to hide it a maximum. You ignored his last question and only answered the first: “I don’t know Lars, what do you want me to say?”

“How you feel!”

But you didn’t tell him how you felt.

“You want to know how I feel? So listen to me for god’s sake! I told you twice I regretted whatever happened last night, and you’re still there, trapping me in a cupboard to ask it a third time. But I won’t tell you what you want to hear. We have a week off, and I’ll spend it with Axl, my boyfriend, the one I love. See you in August.”

You pushed the door and left, your stomach weighing tons.


	11. Chapter 11

The reprise of the tour took place in Vancouver on the 8th of August, nine days after the last show in Jersey.

In other words; nine days without seeing anyone else than Axl – not that it made you forget about Lars. You did your best to put that story at the back of your mind, but remorse took you and you couldn’t help but think about what you had told him in that closet. You did your best to look normal too, but there were times even Axl asked you if you were alright, judging your falling face.

Once again, you were deep in your thoughts when you got out of the taxi to enter the stadium and bumped into an overburdened roadie. Several boxes fell in a loud thud and the man nearly tripped.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

You bent and picked up a huge box. He scoffed: “Don’t worry.”

“Can I help you with those? I know the inside of the place, just tell me where to put it.”

The man scratched his head, a bit embarrassed to ask for help, but gave up as he eyed the other boxes: “Right. Just put it at the start of the wings.”

You nodded and apologized once again before leaving him.

You quickly found the path towards the wings and mindlessly put it down when you heard a cymbal being hit sharply, followed by a laugh. You lifted your head: Lars was currently behind his kit, Kirk in front of him, certainly for rehearsals. You took a breath before quickly turning back, not ready for this now and nearly bumped into the second person of the day.

“y/n!”

James took you by the shoulders and smiled widely: “How are you? Glad to see you!”

You were back at the stage, but could hear all chatting noise had stopped and you had the very unpleasant feeling two pairs of eyes were on you.

“Oh, uh, hi James, I… Hey, I need to go now.”

You managed to bypass him and reached for the corridor, but he quickly caught you back. He puffed: “Hey, what is going on? You don’t want to see me or what?”

He seemed in a very good mood, looking at you like you had seen each other for the last time yesterday and nothing serious happened since you laughed all together in the club in Jersey; what made you think either he was lying very well, or Lars didn’t tell him anything – and you didn’t know if you were relieved or pained.

You did your best to smile, but it felt like a grimace more than anything else; “No, no of course. I… I just have to meet the others down there.”

He nodded: “Right. See you after the show, I guess? Oh, do you know where does the after party take place by the way?”

An afterparty was the last thing you were thinking about right now, and you shook your head no. He waved at you and left for the stage, leaving you in the middle of the corridor.

The hour that separated you from the start of the show happened fast and you decided to assist to the Guns’ part from the wings. You had crossed the stage from the behinds to go to the opposite side, where there was a bit fewer people and fewer chances people not from the technical staff would go. You had put yourself behind one of the curtains that separated the wings, your fingers mindlessly playing with the hem.

You knew _Paradise City_ closed their setlist, and after briefly bowing and thanking the crowd, the band escaped on the other side, like you had predicted.

But you didn’t move.

Three minutes later, you saw Lars aiming at his drumkit and your heart tightened. But you had no time observing him any longer when your attention got quickly attracted further, when you suddenly heard a deep voice shouting; you saw James and a technician guy in a heavy conversation, the singer leaving him while he was still speaking in a pissed movement of the arm. When he appeared on stage, the crowd cheered loudly and he smiled again; they lost no time to start playing.

As long as the show carried on, it was more and more difficult for you to keep your eyes on the general stage and not all the time behind the drumkit.

You knew he couldn’t see you, your place offering the perfect observatory post – and a lot of mixed feelings. You were trapped, and barely noticed staff people running a bit more around you than usual, some shouting angrily at a moment.

What happened next occurred very fast; James was walking to the front of the stage to start to sing _Fade to Black_ from there. Only Kirk was playing for the moment, deep in concentration in the middle of the stage. All of a sudden, a machine for the pyrotechnical effects activated itself, apparently at the very wrong time, seen that James was not even two metres away from it. The orange sparkles dragged your gaze and you opened wide eyes; ten seconds later, the singer was on his knees, holding his left arm close to him. All musicians stopped, and you reflexively jumped on the stage to meet him, under the incomprehensive shouts and protestations of the crowd.

“James! Are you alright?”

He was jaw clenched and lifted his head in a painful movement; a vague surprise to see you there passed on his face, quickly forgotten by the pain.

“You need to get up and get out of here.”

“y/n?”

You had passed your arm under his valid armpit when you heard your name in a whisper. You turned your face; Lars was half bent towards his friend, but looking at you. He too first seemed surprised to see you there. You quickly looked away after a long second and managed to make James stand, but nearly collapsed as he put his full weight against you; what obliged Lars to support you too.

You dragged him the best you could, you supporting James and Lars somehow both of you towards the insides of the stadium. Some people were around you, but no one dared to come at James’ side, that everyone guessed in a bad condition through his clothes.

An ambulance was waiting right against the exit. You quickly glanced outside; apparently no one had come out of the stadium yet.

James painfully climbed in it, still helped by you two.

“James… Are you alright?”

You knew your question was stupid, but you didn’t get any answer anyway.

The doors closed in a clapping noise and you suddenly turned back. Lars cleared his throat to call the nurse: “Miss here won’t-”

“I stay.”

You sat on the bench and squinted at Lars. You knew he was about to say you would leave with them; but whatever your answer, the nurse didn’t pay attention to you.

Lars looked at you with a defying gaze that made you uncomfortably feel out of place. You avoided his gaze and went to scoot closer to James, but the nurse was busy on him and you didn’t want to be in her way; so you opted for observing the details of the inside of the ambulance, the silence soon becoming thick, only troubled by James’ hissings and the nurse’s instruments.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

Lars was still standing remarkably still for being in a vehicle riding fast and bumping here and there on the road.

You cocked an eyebrow: “And why?”

He scoffed mockingly: “After spending all those days without hearing a word from you, I see you spying us earlier this afternoon and now you come with us out of nowhere like if nothing happened!”

You blinked in surprise.

“I wasn’t spying you! I was bringing something there and bumped into James!” Your first reflex was to turn to him for support, but he was biting his fist as the nurse was busy on him, focused on something else a lot more important. “Why the hell would I observe you from the wings?” Your cheeks became red, as you reckoned it was exactly what you were doing earlier. “I can’t believe what you’re accusing me of, Lars. Like… God, we fight in that damn closet and you hope me to, like, contact you?”

A second passed where he seemed to look for his words, and clenched his fists at his side, starting to say: “You know what? I-”

“Please!”

Both James and the nurse shouted at the same time. It seemed the singer took all of the small of energy he had left to hush you as he let himself fall back on the stretcher, eyes closing and jaw clenching.

The rest of the ride happened in silence, Lars and you casually throwing each other deathly stares.

You weren’t able to follow James into the emergencies, so you stopped in the waiting arena, awkwardly empty. Minutes that felt like hours passed in thick silence, broken by Lars: “You don’t have to stay there, you know.”

You turned your face to Lars.

He added: “You can go back to _yours_.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I mean, Axl’s gonna miss you-”

“Stop!”

Your voice resonated in the corridor. “What are you playing at, Lars?”

“Oh, hum, I don’t know. You know, Axl, your boyfriend, the one you love-”

“Hum, please.”

A nurse had come out of a room and motioned you you could enter. Both of you crossed the distance shooting yourselves with the eyes, and entered the room. You aimed at James’ side and blinked: he had bandages a bit everywhere, but was weirdly smiling. Before leaving the room, the nurse simply said “Tranquilizers.” and closed the door.

Lars wasn’t apparently done even if he was now able to see his friend and said: “If you’re tired of this, why aren’t you frank, hum?”

You decided to ignore him and touched James’ valid arm: “James, are you okay?”

He turned his head and glanced at you with glassy eyes. You couldn’t help but shrug: “James, you know you look very high right now?”

The singer opened his mouth: “I look like what?”

“High.”

“Oh, hello.”

“y/n, look at me.”

Both James and you looked at Lars.

_God, he would never leave it?_

“Oh, you want me to be frank?”

He put back a hair strand and hummed: “Yes.”

“Okay. Give me thirty minutes.”

You left the room.


	12. Chapter 12

In front of the hospital, you looked for a taxi, but weirdly, none was there.

It didn’t matter; in ten minutes, you could reach for the stadium by feet.

You were walking fists clenched for five minutes when sounds of people shouting and glass being broken reached for your ears. The most you approached the stadium, the most the streets were crowded, and your heart started to beat faster when you walked by the second car with broken glasses.

There was literally a sea of people in front of you, yelling things you couldn’t hear. You managed to pass between people, hearing fights here and there, on the background of police sirens. It took you the double of time to reach for the entry, guarded. You yelled at one of the guards to cover the ambient noise: “What happened?”

He looked at you eyebrows raised, surprised by the question.

“What happened? The show stopped.”

Knowing all of this had to see with the show made you freeze for a second, before you said: “I need to enter.”

He answered, tensed: “Ma’am, I told you- Oh.”

You had managed to grab your pass that you put under his nose, and he let you enter without further questions, maybe relieved this conversation was over.

You arrived in the wings out of breath and passed your head by the first door opened; Duff was bending over his bag, ruffling in it.

“Duff-”

He had turned to you, but you stopped when you saw his expression, cutting all want to continue.

“How is James?”

He said that a bit coldly, and you didn’t know if it was because of the situation or the fact you had left to accompany him.

“Oh, uh… He’s badly injured, but he had been given painkillers… Duff, what happened? Is it true all of this outside is happening because of the show?”

His traits took the tone of surprise. “What?”

“Outside. It looks like… People are rioting, or something.”

He sighed.

“I guess people are angry the show had been cut short. The manager wanted us to climb back on stage for an hour.”

“Well, that would have been a good idea… What didn’t you do it?”

He closed his bag in a zipping noise and sighed again. He passed by you and tapped on your shoulder: “The meeting room, down the corridor. There is the reason why we didn’t.”

He gave you the ‘meh’ shoulders movement and left, telling you goodbye. You lost no time reaching for the larger room and you took a moment to _appreciate_ the scene: on a couch, Axl was sat, a glass of champagne in his hand, a cigarette in the other, chatting cheerfully with a girl you didn’t know. She turned her head to you and you snapped your fingers to make her leave.

This didn’t seem to bother Axl, who got up still smiling.

“Axl, do you know what’s happening outside?”

He put his now empty glass on the ground and stubbed out his cigarette: “Yes, yes, Emily here told me-”

“And?”

His smile disappeared.

“And what?”

You huffed.

“Why didn’t you finish the show, Axl? It could have been so good, you could have stolen the show.”

“My throat is hurting me.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, does it?”

He frowned under the pressure you were putting on him. He pointed at you: “And you? Where were you, first?”

“I was in the hospital, Axl, James got burnt very badly! But I guess you didn’t notice, being too busy drinking champagne and smoking down here to soothe your throat, I guess.”

His jaw clenched and he walked towards a table to pour himself a glass. Back at you, he spat out: “You came here to ground me?”

You paused and said: “No.”

He hummed, waiting for the rest.

“You know, James is really badly injured. The following shows will certainly be cancelled.”

He slowly turned his face to you, frowning slightly to your repetition and the tone you used; like you were explaining something particularly difficult to a child.

“Yes, I guess. And?”

“We’ll certainly have a lot of free days, each of us separately.”

You were looking in the vague, your brain racing. Axl sighed, then looked back at what he was doing: “I don’t know what you drank, but you’re usually more perceptive when you’re drunk or high.”

You said fluently, like those words were right there waiting to be said in your mouth for days: “Axl, I’m not going to spend those free times with you.”

He put the bottle back on the table in a smashing noise. He turned slowly, gauging your form. He was squinting, still not sure he got what you had said.

“ _What_?”

You knew it was going to be painful, and you felt he wasn’t really going to cooperate.

“I’m leaving you.”

You were surprised of how naturally it came out, and Axl’s face took a lot of colours before stopping on a plain white, his chest filling with air like he was going to explode like a child in a supermarket; what made you instantly turn fed up – even if you were literally breaking up with him.

You rolled your eyes: “Oh please, don’t-”

You got interrupted by the still half-filled bottle of alcohol crashed on the floor.

“You’re damn insufferable, Axl, you know that? Can’t we-”

“Get out!”

“No!”

Both of you had made a step towards each other, but a good two metres still separated you. You said on a lower tone, people bursting in the room being the last thing you wanted: “I think we need to talk.”

He puffed: “No, no we don’t. I know how this is going to happen; you come here to break up with me, but tomorrow you’ll run back to me!”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came. It was like you had received a punch in your stomach. You stuttered a bit: “You… You say that like this situation already happened. You say that like… Like – you squinted – like I couldn’t find anyone better than you!”

“Oooh, so you’re saying you found someone better than me?” He crossed his arms on his chest. He feigned mocking you, but his reddening face and tensed features betrayed him. “You don’t know him, y/n. You’re just thinking the same as everyone who crosses his path, but I’m sure he’s an ass!”

You blinked, not sure if you had heard well. “H-how-”

A glint of pride passed in his eyes, but he kept his angry tone: “Yeah, yes, I know.”

You squinted, not wanting to make him notice your anxiousness. If he knew it was Lars, how come he hadn’t broken his nose yet?

“It was the day in Jersey, uh? I was sure.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“And what are you so sure about, Axl?”

He scoffed and dangerously lurked a glass further, sadly out of reach. “You are like every woman. Running after him… But he can suck my dick!”

Your anxiousness transformed into anger and you hissed: “Well, this-”

He cut you in a high-pitched scream, finally extending himself to reach for this glass and explode it on the floor: “Jon Bon Jovi! Jon Bon Jovi can suck my dick!”

You blinked once again, air leaving your lungs. “What?”

“Oh, don’t act surprised. I saw how you were looking at him and his _damn_ blond hair that night.”

You laughed.

Genuinely, not mockingly; but his body started to tremble and his fists clenched at his sides: “You find this funny!?”

You stopped and darted your eyes in his: “You’re ridiculous, Axl. I _never_ touched Jon Bon Jovi’s blond hair, like you say, and if you had been less full of alcohol you would have maybe noticed that, this night, after having accused him of throwing a lighter on your dick while he wasn’t even there during the fucking show, he left the club!”

He pouted, but anger didn’t leave his face. Something seemed to go on in his mind and his face took the expression of surprise mixed with pettiness: “I know. You’re lying – you’re not seeing anyone.”

You didn’t even have to strength to fight, so you simply said: “It’s Lars.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A lot seemed to go on in his head, _again_ , like he was passing all the events that happened since a month in his head.

You didn’t say anything, esteeming it was his time to talk.

A minute passed, and he finally said: “That Danish twig? Are you kidding me?”

He put his hands on his head and swiped the room with his gaze.

“What are you going to do, Axl? Throw something at me? I can’t bear this anymore either, you know that?”

He scoffed: “Oh, yeah. I see. It’s time you tell me everything that’s wrong with me right now?”

You scoffed: “Well, why not? But I don’t know if you have the night free for that, it’s time for you to go and spend the entire amount the band earned-”

You stopped, the impact of the new bottle of vodka he had grabbed on the table being crashed on the wall at his right making you close your eyes. You didn’t open them when he started: “You! I’m going to kill you, you know that? Doing this all of this with you was the biggest mistake ever. If I could, I would just carry on all of this with _my_ friends and leave you there.”

The words hurt, badly; but you weren’t used to that kind of threat.

You re-opened your eyes slowly; Axl wasn’t looking at you, but at a point slightly on your right made you turn.

Lars was standing in the doorframe, an unreadable expression on his face. Axl crossed the room, shaking, towards the exit but you stopped him by putting your hand on his torso. He turned to you, and yelled: “ _What_?”

You looked at him in the eyes.

“I think they are waiting for you outside.”

He moved from you in a quick movement, like he would catch a disease if he stayed in contact with you, and got out of the room, chocking shoulders with Lars even though he had the room to pass without.

An awkward silence fell, punctuated by two or three drops of vodka from the wall.

Lars said, voice a bit rough from not talking for a while: “You told me to give you thirty minutes… I was starting to get worried.”

You huffed.

“Since when are you there?”

“Oh, hum… Since the Bon Jovi part. It was something.”

You bit your lip, starting to blush. So, he heard it.

You shrugged: “Well, Axl in all his splendour.”

He made two steps towards you, awkwardly putting his hands in his pockets. You cleared your throat, doing your best for your voice to come out strong, but no words came out. He spoke first: “Is it true?”

“What?”

“That you won’t leave with Axl tonight.”

A second passed.

You nodded.

He made another step towards you.

“And is it true that you’d like to go with me?”

Your turn to make a step towards him.

“Listen Lars, I’m sorry for-”

But he hushed you with a quick kiss on the lips. “We’ve got a lot of time in front of us for that, don’t you think?”

You chuckled as he took your hand, getting out of the room. Once in the corridor, you could hear the outside noise of the riots had lowered. You laughed, and Lars raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, personally I didn’t laugh when I was running after you in this crowd…”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about that. You know, more than a month ago, the day we met.”

He said on a cheesy tone: “How could I forget it?”

You nudged at him, but pressed your fingers in his.

“Well, a paparazzi took a picture of us when you caught me before I climbed in the taxi.”

He frowned, not getting why you were thinking about that, but said: “Yeah, I know. You mean ‘lift you in the taxi’?”

“Right, right! Well, in the article, the last sentence was ‘ _what will this hold for our rockstars?_ ’.”

He turned his face to you and grinned: “And are you disappointed?”

You smiled.

“Not at all.”


End file.
